Aftershocks
by ournoisyhearts
Summary: The Dalton Academy Warblers are no longer the gentlemen they used to be. Mistakes have been made, and now they must deal with the aftermath.
1. Jeff

_notes- _I have no idea where this came from or where it's going to end up going, but it's essentially a Warblers-centric fic that I'll post in a short, drabble format whenever the inspiration strikes me. It's going to feature a large variety of pairings, and hopefully a fair amount of angst. So, yes, I'll try my best to not make it too awful.

* * *

**1; Jeff**

* * *

The rain is soothing against his skin, plastering his blonde hair to the top of his head and causing his white dress shirt to soak through. Jeff stands in the center of the courtyard and blinks the water droplets from his eyelashes as he gazes up at the dark sky. He feels vacant. There is a bandage covering his left hip, and it itches as the wet fabric of his shirt rubs up against it. He aches to scratch at it, calm the burn, but he is terrified to touch it. Terrified to recognize what he has done.

There is no one else around, and he takes a moment to bask in the solitude. He doesn't want to think about the repercussions of his actions, or the faces of his friends when they find out. He is the first one to break; the others may follow, or they may not.

All Jeff knows is that he regrets his decision already.

He can still sense the pinch of the needle as it punctures his skin, can picture the painfully smug expression on Hunter's face as he finishes the injection. It's as if the steroids are a physical pull beneath his skin, twisting and burning and altering him into something that he's not. And it hurts. It cuts and it strangles him, and suddenly, it's like he can't breathe. The rain becomes acidic, and he wants to claw at his hip, rip away the bandage and suck out the venom that is now slithering through his veins.

Dropping to his knees, Jeff sags downwards and clutches at the sides of his head. In, out, in, out. He tries to keep the air flowing into his lungs, but his throat won't allow him to, closing up and making it increasingly difficult to focus. He vaguely wonders if he's having a panic attack; that must be it. Why else would his vision be blacking out, palms growing clammy?

At some point, he stops grappling at his own skin and gives in, shuddering and eventually falling still against the pavement. The rain continues to trickle down, snaking beneath his collar and streaking across his face. But he feels nothing.

"Jeff? Jeff!"

There is a voice. Hands shaking him. Jeff pales and attempts to crawl away, but the arms hold him firmly and force him to his feet, where he wavers unsteadily. A hand grasps his shoulder and tugs him around, and Jeff blinks fuzzily, staring blankly down at the person in front of him.

"Shit, Jeff, I think you passed out. We should get you to the nurse," Nick is saying, and Jeff remains mute, his own fingers straying to his side.

_Don't let him see it,_ his mind screams, and he immediately struggles away from his friend's hold before mumbling incoherently.

"N-no, no, I'm fine. I swear." He stumbles, but manages to catch himself and place one foot carefully in front of the other as he walks in what he hopes is the direction of the dorms. Nick's feet pounding against the ground can be heard, and then he is back at Jeff's side, looking so fucking _concerned _that Jeff can't stand it.

"Jeff, come on, don't be stupid-"

"Just leave me alone!" He snaps.

Nick instantly stops walking, and Jeff nearly pauses as well at the sound of his own voice. Laced with rancor, bitterness; he hasn't once spoken to Nick in such a condition.

Not ever.

"Jeff," Nick repeats helplessly, and when Jeff looks up, his face is so confused and so hurt that Jeff suddenly has to repress the urge to scream. He doesn't know what's _wrong_ with himself—it's as if his mind has been diluted by an upsurge of pure anger, and he can't _think,_ he doesn't know what's happening—

"What part of 'leave me alone' don't you understand?" He spits, and he isn't even aware that he's spoken until Nick's expression shutters off completely, and then he's turning away, heading in the opposite direction without so much as a response, and Jeff is shivering and soaked to the bone and alone once again, the toxins infesting his body.


	2. Nick

**2; Nick**

* * *

All Nick wants to do is help. It's the kind of person he is; assisting, sympathetic. Concerned for everyone else's well being. If he can do something to contribute, he will.

Which is why Jeff just pisses him off so damn badly.

Jeff doesn't appreciate empathy. He shies away from it, in fact, preferring to stay huddled up in his own world, blaming himself for everything and becoming consumed in his thoughts. And it kills Nick, to see his best friend so _broken_, but it's who Jeff is. He's learned this by now, knows when to back off and when to push the matter.

But he's pretty sure that this is different.

Jeff isn't speaking. He isn't eating. He isn't sleeping, which Nick only knows because he can hear his friend slip out of the dorm room each night, the _click _of the door sounding ominously in the darkness. Since the day he had found Jeff in the courtyard, Nick has been floundering, trying and failing to connect the dots. He has absolutely no idea what's wrong.

Jeff's anger that day is probably what's left him so unhinged— Jeff doesn't do angry. He doesn't do yelling, or emotional outbursts. And he sure as hell doesn't pass out in plain sight in the middle of a fucking rainstorm, his blonde hair matted against the pavement.

Nick is scrambling for purchase, for something he can _do,_ but there is nothing. He watches as Jeff slips deeper into his own demise, helpless.

They'll ask him about it. _What's_ _wrong with Jeff? Is Jeff alright? Nick, you have to talk to him. _Thad and Trent and all the rest of them pester him, insistent that something be done, but they don't realize that's exactly the problem: there is nothing _to_ be done. They don't understand.

Jeff's insomnia has diffused over to him, and now, Nick lies wide awake, bloodshot eyes gazing up at the ceiling in oblivion. Jeff had wandered out no less than an hour ago, the digital clock flashing the numbers 1:04 into the stillness of the room. Nick had been so utterly tempted to follow, but had somehow stopped himself, knowing that even if he couldn't make it better, there was no sense in making it _worse._

He inches out of bed and pads over to the window, unhooking the latch and sliding it open. The fresh air immediately hits him, and he inhales the scent of wet earth and night, his hands falling to rummage through one of the drawers of the desk beside him.

Finally, his fingers close around a small box, and he tugs out the stashed package of cigarettes, taking one between his thumb and forefinger and placing it between his lips. The lighter takes a bit longer to find, shoved beneath piles of pens and trash, but at last he uncovers it, the flame illuminating his face in half shadow as he lights the cigarette hanging out of his mouth and inhales.

The smoke warms his lungs, and he situates himself against the windowsill, eyes closing and mind blessedly emptying. Nick doesn't do this often. Smoking is something he's picked up from his father, a way to release tension after too long of being pent-up and frustrated. His pack of Marlboros remains at the bottom of his drawer, mostly untouched, except for moments like these, when his best friend is falling apart at the seams and he has no idea how to fix it.

Nick exhales, smoke curling out into the frigid air, and the anxiety leaves him, if at least for a short time.


	3. Hunter

**3; Hunter**

* * *

Hunter Clarington was born to win.

His father has never been the type of man to accept failure. Hunter had constantly been under scrutiny, the pressure to succeed an excruciating one. At age five, it had been beating the other boys at kickball. At age nine, it was scoring the most runs in Little League. At fourteen, it was being at the top of his class at the military academy.

And now, it was bringing a show choir to a national championship.

Geoffrey Clarington has been a business mogul since the time of Hunter's childhood, dominating the silver industry with his various mines throughout Mexico and South America, and not once has Hunter seen him hesitate to take action. Mr. Clarington is the kind of person who not only steps on those beneath him, but completely crushes them, destroys and tears them to pieces until they are sent running. There is no room in the Clarington men's heart for kindness or sympathy. Hunter learned this the hard way.

But now, at seventeen, he knows how to make things happen. He knows how to manipulate, how to cater every situation to his own wants and needs, and manipulating the Warblers has proven easier than he'd originally planned.

The steroids were not his first choice. He had merely intended to intimidate, possibly blackmail, possibly force, the rest of the Warblers into doing as he said. His mind had concocted elaborate rehearsals and scathing lectures, but after his first few weeks at Dalton, it was obvious that whipping his team into shape was going to take much more than that.

The boys were so obviously lost, it had almost been laughable. They still mumbled about the loss of their grand star, the oh-so-fine Blaine Anderson, and then the failure of a year spent under Sebastian Smythe. Hunter almost wants to thank Smythe, in fact, for the shit-tastic job _he_ had done, because if it weren't for Sebastian's screw ups, there's a decent chance Hunter's job would've been twenty times more difficult. The mess he had made of things left the rest of the group all too eager to accept a new captain, one who most definitely could and _would_ bring them to victory.

Hunter refuses to accept anything less.

It's shocking, the lack of convincing he has to do to get Jeff under the needle. The blonde boy is literally a walking, talking stack of emotional issues, and he caves quickly under Hunter's words, brief spiels of _you're slacking, Jeff_ and _you don't want to let the Warblers down, do you?_ Hunter can sense the insecurity, the fear and the timid side of him that lurks behind the boy's blinding smile. If Hunter were perhaps a different person, he might find a sense of camaraderie with Jeff. He might see the eerie reflection of himself, sheltered by years of walls and blocking himself out from _feeling_.

But he is Hunter Clarington, and to acknowledge emotion would be weak. He cannot be weak, because he has to _win._


	4. Thad

**4; Thad**

* * *

The council had been a tradition. It was a way to keep the group in check, make sure that the delicate balance of power was not disrupted. Everyone had a say, everything was voted on. There were no split second decisions, and in general, everyone was kept somewhat...content.

Thad doesn't know exactly when that changed. After Wes and David graduated, they never really voted on two other new members for the council, and then with Sebastian's arrival and insertion of himself as captain (read: dictator), the entire concept was essentially lost. And sometimes, Thad misses it. He misses the organization; the equality, especially. Everything had been so simple back then, with the Warblers coordinated in a democratic-esque group, all contributing and fleshing their ideas out together.

There are days when Thad has the abrupt urge to call Wes, to beg and plead with him to come back from Brown and just _help them_, because God knows, they need it. He's not sure when the boys he used to be proud to call his friends slowly began their downward spiral. He doesn't know when they lost every last shred of confidence and dignity, enough to allow people like Sebastian Smythe and Hunter Clarington to get the best of them. Most of all, he doesn't know when his friends became less of friends and more of just acquaintances, people who didn't really care about him and who he didn't have to care about in return.

Wes would know how to fix things. Wes would take charge, but not in the ruthless way in which Hunter has; he would reinstate the council, knock some sense into the rest of the group. _What have you guys done? Get your shit together._ He had always been a kind of father figure; Thad wants to think that college hasn't changed that. He wants to think that Wes is the something that might turn the Warblers into a _team_ again, but perhaps even that is wishful thinking.

Because there is, of course, a point where the broken becomes irreparable.

He desperately hopes that the Warblers haven't reached that point. He's put too much time, too much energy, too much dedication into the group for it to fracture _now,_ during his last year at Dalton. He's grown to love his fellow Warblers over the past three years, but as each one of them grows more and more unrecognizable with each passing day, he's beginning to worry. What if they have reached that place? That place where there is no possible chance of escape?

Jeff is a silent shell of the outgoing boy he'd been freshman year. Nick, Nick is just _resigned_, dragging himself along and not bothering to try. Trent becomes more distant from the Warblers every day, looking down at them and shaking his head in disappointment. And Sebastian, well. Sebastian is vacant, fading into the background and allowing Hunter to do as he wishes. Thad thinks he may still be weary after the previous year, now too afraid to use his voice because of the damage he's already caused. He almost wishes that Sebastian would talk, because Hunter is simply _strangling_ them, strangling their dreams and their identities and everything the Warblers have stood for.

And soon, they aren't going to have anything left.


	5. Sebastian

**5; Sebastian**

* * *

Sleep is something that Sebastian hasn't had the privilege of in awhile. The nighttime brings with it a swirling storm of thoughts that possesses him and keeps him awake, and he spends the early hours of the morning silently wandering around campus, the ability to shut off his brain having escaped him. There is something comforting about how utterly empty the pathways are, his only company the rustling of the tree branches and the eerie glow of the crescent-shaped moon. The solitude wraps around him, and he manages to shove away the voices and the doubt in the back of his mind for a few hours.

He stumbles across Jeff on a meaningless Wednesday. It's shortly after midnight, the last few lights in the dorm windows shutting off, and Sebastian is passing quietly along the side of the science building when he spots a figure hunched in the shadows.

Jeff is seated at the base of the brick wall, the contrast of his blonde hair against the blackness the only thing to give him away. Sebastian's steps falter when he notices the boy, and he hesitates.

Fortunately (or maybe unfortunately), Jeff becomes aware of his presence before he can turn away.

"Sebastian?" His voice is colored in confusion and slightly hoarse, and Sebastian finds himself cautiously moving forward to seat himself next to Jeff, knees pulled loosely up to his chest.

"Trouble sleeping, Sterling?" He asks, and Jeff stares off into some meaningless point in the darkness, the sleeves of the sweatshirt that engulfs his wiry frame slipping further down to cover his hands.

A long minute passes, and then Jeff mutters, "always." Sebastian watches as he closes his eyes, head tipping back against the building behind them. He isn't used to sharing this time with someone else; the night used to be his and his alone, but for some reason, he can tell that Jeff needs it almost as much as he does.

Therefore, he remains silent.

As comforting as the loneliness and the darkness usually are, there is something peculiar about sharing the space with Jeff, being able to wallow in his own musings while someone else does the same. If he's being honest, Sebastian knows next to nothing about Jeff Sterling. He's got the blondest hair in the state of Ohio, boasts some pretty insane dance skills, and is supposedly close friends with one Nicholas Duval, but aside from the obvious, Sebastian knowledge is nonexistent.

He hasn't spent his year at Dalton making friends, that much is true. In fact, he's caused the Warblers more pain and difficulty than anything, and the remorse he feels is normal by now, but as he sits beside Jeff in the shadow of Wilson Hall, it is suddenly overwhelming.

He can add the missed opportunities to actually get to know people to the long list of things he's regretted in his life.

"I really fucked things up, didn't I?" Sebastian says after a beat, and Jeff shoots him a glance, brown eyes unwavering in the darkness.

"We all have," he states softly, and there is something deeper behind the words, Sebastian can tell. Yet he doesn't ask, and Jeff offers nothing.

"Are you scared?" Sebastian asks instead, and Jeff seems to ponder the question for awhile. When he finally answers, his voice is so heartbreakingly honest that something in Sebastian's stomach twists.

"I should be."

_We all should be, _he hears instead, and he wants to apologize, because this _is_ partially his fault, but he's said the word 'sorry' so many times by now that it sounds hollow, even to his own ears.


	6. Round Two: Nick

**6; Nick**

* * *

By the time Hunter corners him, it's been three weeks. Three weeks of Jeff avoiding him, three weeks of no communication, three weeks of Nick trying his damnedest not to go absolutely insane. He's smoked his way through pack after pack of cigarettes, and it's come to a point where the comfort he draws from them has nearly developed into total dependence, his fingers trembling whenever he and Jeff are in the same general proximity, as if just being able to _hold_ a cigarette might somehow ease the tension that is palpable between them.

Jeff doesn't know. Nobody knows, really; he smokes mainly at night, after Jeff has disappeared, or in the middle of physics class, when he asks for the hall pass and instead drags himself out to the football field, where he settles beneath the bleachers and remains there for the rest of the day. No one asks where he goes. He's on time to Warbler rehearsals, where everything is wrong, too, and everyone is too caught up in their own problems to question his disappearances.

As practice finishes up one evening, Nick makes to bolt for the dorms like he normally does, avoiding Trent's pitying looks and Thad's pleading gaze, but Hunter somehow pins him down, motioning for him to come closer with the crook of his finger as the room empties.

Nick gulps, but obeys.

"Duval," he greets, and Nick says nothing, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he waits for Hunter to continue. He's never been particularly fond of the boy, something about his constant smirk and the victorious air he gives off bothering Nick more than he'd like to admit. He's strangely similar to Sebastian, but a hundred times higher in intensity, and just his presence leaves Nick shaken to the core.

"We need to talk." At this, Nick lifts his head, eyebrows furrowing and head tipping to the side. Hunter is then grasping his elbow and pulling him along, to where exactly, Nick isn't sure. "You've been having some...trouble lately, in rehearsals. And that just won't do."

Nick's palms are suddenly clammy, his face paling and mind swimming because _what is Hunter getting at? _"Are you- are you kicking me out?"

Hunter's laugh is scathing, so cold that Nick feels it all the way down to his bones. "Now, I can't afford to do that. So you'll just have to make some...adjustments."

They are in Hunter's dorm room. Nick is starting to panic, because the expression on Hunter's face is downright petrifying, the twist of his lips and the thoughtful narrowing of his eyes. Nick presses himself back against the door and looks down. "I don't understand-"

"Come on, Duval. I've already dealt with your little friend Jeff. He had the same problem."

Nick's heart stops. "What about Jeff?"

Hunter finally turns around from where he had been rummaging around, and there is a syringe in his hand, and Nick's stomach is plummeting to his feet and he _can't breathe_ because Hunter has some kind of drug, he injected Jeff with a _drug_ and now he wants Nick to accept it as well, and how could Jeff even _let this happen_-

"If you really don't want me to kick you out of the group, I suggest you cooperate," Hunter says plainly. His eyes are hard, unsympathetic, and Nick suddenly doesn't know if he has any other option.

He can't leave the Warblers now, can he?

All he does is nod.


	7. Trent

**7; Trent**

* * *

Nick smells like smoke.

Trent recognizes the scent one afternoon as his (maybe) friend breezes past him on his way out the common room door, and it stops him dead in his own tracks. Sebastian shoots him a strange look, but Trent is frozen, because Nick smells like _smoke_.

He's known things were getting bad. They've been bad ever since last year, when the Warblers had sunken low enough to use cheating and blackmail and pure cruelty to simply _win_, but as he catches the whiff of cigarettes from Nick's blazer, Trent is abruptly hit with the reality that they may have just hit rock bottom.

He wants to blame Hunter, or Sebastian, or maybe Blaine for leaving them, but he knows that it's truly everybody and nobody's fault at the same time. They each have their problems, of that Trent is well aware. But whereas before, they had been able to deal with them, _together_, now they are just being pushed down and hidden until they begin to seep out. And Trent can't take it.

Who are these boys? He honestly has no idea anymore. He doesn't know where the talkative, energetic group of boys from freshman year went, wonders if maybe they left when Wes and David and Blaine all left, too.

He stops Thad just as the boy goes to pass him as well, and the two of them stare at each other for a long moment, silently communicating.

_What's going on?_

_I don't know._

Thad follows his gaze down the hall to Nick's retreating back, and then mutters, "we're losing them, Trent."

The words, as much as they ache, are the truth. Trent doesn't want to think that way, but it's painfully obvious that the Warblers are slowly rupturing from the inside-out, and he might just have to watch it happen.

"Thad, we can't just..." His voice trails off, and he wants to add, _let this happen_, but he doesn't know how to _stop_ it.

It's terrifying.

"I don't know what to do," he admits aloud.

Thad's expression is stoic. He responds quietly, "neither do I."


	8. Round Two: Jeff

**8; Jeff**

* * *

Jeff finds that Sebastian's silent company isn't all that bad.

The boy managed to score a single room, and Jeff now ends up there most nights, their backs pressed against the wall as they stare unseeingly at the television across from Sebastian's bed. No words pass between them, and Jeff doesn't even know if he can call this thing between them 'friendship.' It's more of a mutual understanding, and the scab on his hip somehow feels less monumental when he's around Sebastian, like maybe he's not the only one who's completely fucked up.

On this particular night, Sebastian has a bottle of whiskey settled in his lap when Jeff quietly enters the room, and he looks up as the door falls shut, an unreadable expression on his face. "Sterling?"

"Yeah," Jeff answers softly, padding over to the bed and stopping in front of Sebastian's hunched form. "You drunk?"

"No."

This is the second longest conversation they've had to date. Sebastian is most definitely drunk.

"You shouldn't drink alone," Jeff mutters in resignation, seating himself carefully beside Sebastian and snagging the bottle. He watches as Sebastian rolls his eyes, a bitter smile marring his features.

"I'm always alone. And I have to drink sometime," he explains, eyes drifting up to the ceiling. Jeff squints down at the label on the bottle, then braces himself and downs a long swig, his expression twisting as the liquid burns his throat.

"'Atta boy, Sterling." Sebastian jostles him lightly with his elbow, and Jeff grunts in response and swallows another mouthful before passing the bottle back. They do that for awhile, trading drinks in a more comfortable silence, and Jeff manages to shut his eyes, the onslaught of his thoughts dulling as the alcohol slithers through his veins. He's somewhat come to accept the fact that there are now _drugs_ in his body, steroids, in fact, but most days, the guilt still consumes him. Avoiding Nick is easier than looking him in the eye, knowing that his best friend will _see_ the lie in his gaze, but the tension is slowly eating away at him, and Jeff is tired. He's tired of feeling like a horrible person, of keeping this from everyone, but he knows he has to. It was his decision to make in the first place, and all decisions have consequences.

"Did you know-" Sebastian mumbles suddenly, breaking Jeff out of his musings. "Did you know...that Dalton tried to kick me out?"

And, _wow_. No, Jeff hadn't known- he'd assumed that Sebastian was punished somehow for his actions last year, but not to that extreme, and the admission leaves him reeling. He glances over at the boy next to him, and his expression must give away his shock, because Sebastian just laughs deprecatingly and shakes his head.

"I shamed the 'Dalton gentleman' image. I brought scandal to the Warblers name. You know, I could have been arrested for assault for what I did to Blaine. I'm not surprised they tried to expel me. I would've deserved it." Sebastian is wringing his hands together around the bottle in his lap, his voice void of any emotion. "They only let me stay on one condition: I hand over control of the Warblers and fade into the background. And jesus, look what good _that's_ done."

Jeff is speechless. He's noticed that Sebastian isn't very active in rehearsals anymore, figured that he just felt _bad_, but never thought that he was being forced to sit down and shut up. And the fact that Sebastian has been pushed aside in favor of Hunter, who is just as awful, if not more so...

"Why didn't you-"

"Say something? You guys don't care about me. You were probably happy to have someone new in charge," Sebastian replies. "You just want someone in charge in general. Doesn't matter who it is. Why d'you think it was so easy for me to get you guys on my side? Desperate for leadership. Always."

And _that_ stings, because as Jeff runs his thumb absently over his hip, he knows with startling clarity that it's true. Take himself as the example- Hunter had exploited that very quality, and managed to get Jeff to stoop to something so low that it's left him absolutely miserable. How long had it taken him? A few minutes? Jeff is suddenly weak, dizzy. He feels pathetic, like he should have fought harder, like maybe there is a reason he should have tried.

But when he tries to think of that reason, he comes up with nothing.

"Why is that, though?" Jeff mumbles. "Why do we all want that sense of direction? What's happened to us to make us that way?"

Sebastian arches an eyebrow, his expression conveying the words that have yet to be spoken. _You tell me._

"We were so good, Sebastian. You have no idea..." Jeff starts, and then he can't stop, the words pouring out of him. "With Blaine, with Wes and David, we were like a family. I joined the Warblers because I wanted to _belong_, and for awhile, I had that. These guys, they're like my brothers. I know you don't really get what that feels like, but it's really, really nice." He pauses, sucks in a deep breath. "But then Blaine _left_ us, for a boy. Right when we needed him the most, and it's like...the abandonment just had us shattered, and maybe we thought you could pick up the pieces. I don't know."

At least for Jeff, that's what it had been. He'd wanted someone like Blaine, someone charming and personable and in charge, someone who could make them whole again. And at first, Sebastian had seemed like maybe he could be that person.

Except not quite.

He falls quiet after that, and Sebastian doesn't apologize, doesn't try to comfort him. His eyes are on the wall across from them, pupils glinting in the darkness, and his throat works, but he makes no sound.

It might be the alcohol, but Jeff has the abrupt urge to kiss him.

So he does.

Confusion, desperation. The meeting of lips and tongues, and Sebastian is grasping at him, tugging Jeff over to straddle his waist, and Jeff's fingers are in Sebastian's hair and they are sharing the same air. The only sounds in the room are the rustling of clothing and the heaving of breaths, Sebastian's mouth leaving a hot trail down Jeff's neck. His hands are beneath the blonde's shirt, and then they are tipping sideways, Sebastian settling on top of him and resuming their frantic movements, mouth a firm pressure against Jeff's own.

"Fuck, Jeff, what are we-" he gasps out, but Jeff hauls him back down, the abrupt need to have hands on his skin and a body against his overriding any semblance of common sense.

"Shut up," Jeff breathes, and Sebastian presses him down into the sheets without another complaint.


	9. Round Two: Sebastian

**9; Sebastian**

* * *

"Mr. Clarington, Mr. Smythe," Principal Meyers greets. Sebastian is seated stoically beside Hunter, who has his legs crossed and his arms folded smugly as he leans back in his own chair. Their monthly meetings with Dalton's principal are something that Sebastian generally dreads, have been since the beginning of the year. They are Meyers' way of checking in, making sure everything is running smoothly (as in, that Sebastian hasn't fucked anything else up). It's one straight hour of sitting silently while Hunter spouts off lies about how _great_ the Warblers are doing, how everyone is getting along and working hard under his leadership.

It usually takes everything Sebastian has not to punch him in his stupid, smirking face.

Today is no different. Meyers glances back and forth between the two of them, and Sebastian can see as he notes the tension there, the way Hunter turns up his chin and Sebastian curls his fists against his thighs. He clears his throat, but Sebastian doesn't react. He never does.

"Well, gentlemen. How are things?"

Hunter absently adjusts the knot of his tie and responds, "fine, fine. We're shaping up for Sectionals and all of that. I have a feeling this is going to be our year, Principal Meyers."

"Is that so?" Meyers buys every word, leaning forward in his seat in interest, and Sebastian wants to puke. "No problems, then?"

Sebastian flinches internally, because he _knows_ the question is meant to imply his involvement. It always does.

"Well," Hunter says slowly, and _now_ Sebastian is paying full attention, because _what is Hunter doing? _ "A few of our members have been...distracted."

"I assume you've been dealing with it?" Meyers questions, and Hunter instantly nods.

"Absolutely. I will do whatever it takes to keep this team together, sir, you know that."

And if that isn't the biggest fucking lie Sebastian has ever heard. He resists the urge to shoot Hunter a glare and sinks down in his seat, pleading with whatever powers that be for this meeting to just be _over_ already. He doesn't know what Hunter had meant by "distracted," but the word immediately has Sebastian feeling the burn of the fresh hickey against the juncture of his neck and shoulder, the images of Jeff desperate and flushed with pleasure flitting through his mind.

The sound of Principal Meyers' chair scraping across the wooden floor startles him out of his thoughts, and then they are standing and being dismissed, _finally_, as he and Hunter shake the man's hand and then exit the room. Sebastian makes a break for the door, his feet echoing loudly throughout the hallway, but Hunter's casual voice stops him.

"So, who'd you fuck?"

The way he has his palms shoved into his pockets, the nonchalant manner in which he poses the question- everything about Hunter in that moment sets Sebastian on edge. He straightens his shoulders and merely narrows his eyes, staring back at the other boy in challenge.

"I believe that's none of your business," he spits, and then Hunter is sauntering forward, head tipping thoughtfully to one side as he examines Sebastian's defensive stance.

"Except it is, if your..._habits_ are going to be affecting my team," Hunter is saying, stepping forward in a slow circle as if he is circling some type of prey. Sebastian resolutely stares at the wall behind Hunter's head and doesn't reply. "You see, Smythe, I have this problem. I really, _really_ want to win." Hunter finally stops his pacing and faces Sebastian straight on, his voice lowering. "And if you obstruct my attempts at victory in any way whatsoever, you'll be sorry. Is that clear?"

Sebastian isn't sure when his life turned into some cheesy action movie, but he knows better than to take Hunter's threat for granted. He and the other boy are more similar than he'd like to admit, and he knows exactly what it's like to have the motivation to stop at nothing to get what is wanted. Hunter is no exception.

"Crystal," he finally answers through gritted teeth, and Hunter seems appeased by the answer, at least for now. He smoothes down the front of his blazer and takes a step back, flicking away a stray piece of lint on his shoulder in an almost distracted matter.

"Good," he says coolly. The word effectively ends their conversation.


	10. Round Two: Thad

**10; Thad**

* * *

The hallways are quiet when Thad exits his dorm room early on Saturday morning. Trent is sound asleep in his own bed, and Thad barely passes his roommate a sparing glance as he tugs on a sweatshirt and shoves his feet into a pair of sneakers, the wooden floor creaking beneath his movements. He then carefully pockets his keys and leaves silently. The emptiness of the building causes his steps to echo against the walls, and as he emerges into the morning air, he finds himself stopping just outside on the steps. The sky is a murky gray, the breeze rustling gently past his face, and Thad shuts his eyes in order to simply _be_ for a moment.

A deep breath.

When he arrives at his destination a short twenty minutes later, he is significantly less relaxed. The exhaustion is finally beginning to catch up with him, and one of the nurses that is on duty sympathetically passes him a warmed styrofoam cup as soon as he enters the children's ward, her eyes kind and understanding. _She's sleeping, but I'm sure she'd appreciate the company,_ the woman murmurs, and all Thad can do is nod as he clutches the coffee between two hands and slowly makes his way past rows of uniform white doors.

Andrea Harwood lies stationary against the sheets when he finally stops in the doorway to her room. Her dark curls are spread haphazardly over the pillow, and there are dark circles beneath her eyes, her small fingers twisted loosely around the brown teddy bear that rests in her lap. Thad takes a few hesitant steps inside, drawing a chair over from against the wall so that he can take a seat at his sister's bedside, his hand immediately reaching out to smooth her bangs away from her pale forehead.

"Morning, Andy," he says quietly. The only response is the humming of the various machines to his right, a slight wheezing noise that comes from the tube that is hooked into Andrea's nose, and Thad's fingers slide down to curl loosely around his sister's tiny wrist, his head dropping forward to press his chin against his chest.

"Sorry it's been awhile," he continues, a long minute of quiet having passed. "Things have been...well, pretty shitty, actually. But don't tell mom I used that word in front of you, alright?" A wry smile appears on his face, and he lifts his head again to shoot a fond look at Andrea, her features slackened with sleep. She looks so peaceful like this, as if there isn't a deadly virus that's trying to eat her alive from the inside out.

Thad immediately attempts to derail that train of thought, and clears his throat.

"I remember the first time I brought you to Warblers practice. You sat on one of the couches and clapped along to every song, even though you had no idea what we were singing. You were just this innocent seven year old, so ignorant and...untouched by the world. I wish life was still that easy."

From her spot on the bed, Andrea shifts slightly, her eyelids twitching as she fidgets in her sleep. Thad pauses in his reminiscing and merely watches her, taking in the calmness, the vulnerability. There is an ache in his chest, steadily growing as he remembers another time, when Andrea had still been healthy and Thad had still been _happy_, when they'd all been happy.

He remembers Wes handing over his precious gavel not seconds after Andrea had asked, grinning widely at the squeal that had erupted from her mouth as she began banging the object against every hard surface she could find. He remembers Nick and Jeff sitting with her during rehearsal breaks, taking turns as they each made ridiculous faces just to get the young girl to laugh. He remembers Blaine, scooping Andrea up into his arms as they ran over the choreography for _Silly Love Songs_, spinning around the room with an ecstatic seven year old on his back. Andy had always been such a carefree child; chattering away and running around, never lacking in curiosity. Thad misses the outgoing side of his sister; now, all she ever seems to do is _rest,_ the battle she is waging against the cancer draining her body of all its energy.

Thad desperately just wants to hear her laugh again, watch her face light up as he serenades her with some _Disney_ tune over the breakfast table, but his life isn't fair that way. Instead, he is subjected to weekends in a sterilized hospital, hunched over his baby sister's sleeping form as he takes comfort in the methodic rise and fall of her chest, and contemplates when his life became so fucked up.


	11. Round Two: Trent

**11; Trent**

* * *

Trent likes to think that he has a pretty strong sense of morals. He knows right from wrong, and can make the better decision, when it comes down to it. He doesn't find himself drawn to the darker side of things, tempted to give into something potentially harmful.

This is how he's known from the beginning that Hunter was bad news.

But it doesn't _really_ hit him until now, as he watches Jeff stumble his way through the dance routines for _Whistle_ with Hunter breathing down his neck. Jeff, of all people, struggling with dance moves. The number is meant as their first for Sectionals, but there is no enthusiasm, no excitement at the prospect of competing. Hunter just won't stop yelling, and Trent can tell that Jeff is about five seconds away from a breakdown, sweat dripping from his temples and fingers trembling dangerously.

And Trent finally snaps.

"Hunter! Lay off, would you? He's obviously about to lose it. Just give him a break."

The forceful tone of his voice causes a few weary heads to snap up, and Trent can see Thad panicking from the corner of his eye. _What the hell are you doing?!_ His face screams, but Trent ignores him. He's had it up to _here_ with succumbing to Hunter's bullshit, and he's done with ignoring the proverbial elephant in the middle of the room, otherwise known as the fact that the Warblers are dragging themselves through problems so thick that they're just moments away from crumbling.

"I'm sorry, Nixon, but do you have a problem?" Hunter tears his attention away from Jeff in order to sneer in Trent's direction, his arms folding firmly across his chest. The expression on his face is terrifyingly neutral, but Trent has to say this, because he's sure that if he doesn't, no one else will.

"Do I have a problem?" He mimics, throwing his hands up into the air indignantly. "Are you _blind?_ I'm not the one with the problem—this group is practically drowning in problems! I don't know if you're either plain stupid, or you just don't care, but Jeff looked like he was about to pass out back there. Nobody here talks to each other anymore, and you just keep _pushing,_ like we're nothing more than a machine that you want to keep running! Can't you see that you're ripping this team apart?"

His chest is heaving, and he's pretty sure there are tears pooling in his eyes as he glances wildly around the common room, taking in the stunned faces of his fellow Warblers. Nick's mouth is opening and closing pointlessly, while Jeff is now curled up into a ball on the floor, his head hanging. In the corner, Trent spots Sebastian, his fists curled at his sides as he stares stoically at the back of Hunter's head.

But nobody steps forward to Trent's side. His accusations hang stifling in the air surrounding them, and he remains alone.

"If you have an issue with how this team is being run," Hunter hisses, an angry red flush slowly creeping its way up his neck. He takes a menacing step forward, infringing upon Trent's personal space, and pointedly cocks his head to the side, nodding towards the door. "You can leave."

Trent is dumbfounded. He stays rooted to the spot, gazing once more at the now unfamiliar faces around him. The room is so utterly silent that the sound of a pin dropping could be heard, and internally, Trent is _screaming, _because _why isn't anyone supporting him?_

He realizes with startlingly clarity that this is it. He doesn't have a reason to stay anymore.

A second passes, and then another. With his head held high, Trent spins around on his heel and heads towards the door, but not without one last parting comment.

"I don't even know you guys anymore."


	12. Round Two: Hunter

**12; Hunter**

* * *

When Sebastian wanders back into their shared room at nearly two o'clock in the morning, Hunter is waiting.

"I thought I warned you to stop this," he says plainly, and Sebastian freezes in the doorway, his frame illuminated by the glow of the lights in the hallway. Hunter is perched on the corner of his desk, hands folded casually against his thigh, and he watches through narrowed eyes as Sebastian quietly shuts the door behind himself, now able to take in his roommate's disheveled state.

"Look, it's not my fault that Jeff's been..." Sebastian waves his hand absently, crossing the room to deposit his jacket on his bed, "...distracted, or whatever you want to call it."

"Oh, it's not?" Hunter counters, straightening up to stand at his full height. "So the fact that you're screwing his brains out every night isn't throwing off his focus whatsoever?"

"Shut the fuck up," Sebastian bites out. The mixture of guilt and rage is evident on his face, and Hunter presses onwards, wanting to garner even more of a reaction.

"Is he good, Smythe? I bet his tan body looks so good spread out against the sheets, all lithe muscle—"

And then he can't speak, because Sebastian is fisting the shoulders of his t-shirt and tugging him forward, infuriated face right up in Hunter's space. His voice is low, callous, and Hunter just wants to _laugh,_ because Sebastian makes this so goddamn easy.

"I said _shut the fuck up,_" Sebastian spits. His eyes are blazing, the tension so thick between them that Hunter can _feel _it.

"Down, tiger," he drawls.

Sebastian's fist is suddenly releasing its hold and reeling backwards, and then he is punching Hunter squarely in the jaw, knocking the boy into the bookshelves behind them. Pain erupts from the point of contact, and Hunter grasps at the aching side of his face, wincing as his back jostles against the pile of toppled objects beneath him. The taste of blood is coppery in his mouth, and he runs his tongue absently across his now split lip before peering up at Sebastian, who is hovering angrily above him.

"You are such an _asshole,_" he grits out, and Hunter tries to form a snarky reply, but then Sebastian is dragging him up from his crumpled position and shoving him against the wall to their left, Hunter's head thunking audibly against the plaster. The taller boy appears to be seconds away from punching him again, and as much as the sight of an angry Sebastian pleases him, Hunter could really do without a second bruise on his face.

So instead, he says, "I have a small proposition for you."

Sebastian's chest heaves with exertion from where it is pressed against his own, and Hunter can see the other boy grow instantly cautious at the offer, their eyes never leaving one another.

"You think I'll agree to _anything_ with you?" He asks in disbelief, and Hunter merely smirks.

"I'm sure your precious little _Jeff _would, if I was convincing enough."

"Don't you dare bring him into this," Sebastian hisses, "you've done enough to him as it is."

_Oh, Smythe,_ Hunter taunts internally. _You have no idea._

"Like I said, all you have to do is say yes," he replies calmly instead.

The moment Sebastian becomes resigned to the situation is obvious; the rage slowly seeps from his eyes, and his fingers loosen every so slightly against Hunter's biceps. God, this really is almost _too_ easy; Jeff and Nick were hardly a fight, and Trent hadn't been more than a blip of a loss on Hunter's radar. He'd expected Sebastian to resist a little while longer, but it turns out that his roommate's feelings for one Jeff Sterling may go deeper than he's willing to admit.

"What do you want?" Sebastian mutters. The defeat is evident in his voice, and Hunter basks in it. It's goddamned _glorious,_ the fact that Sebastian Smythe has given into him, and Hunter has never felt so victorious.


End file.
